


The Role You Made Me Play

by tehhumi



Series: Look what you made me do [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dark, Dark! Maedhros, I promise that the twins are safe, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Rape, Sexual Coercion, Sibling Incest, Whump, hopeful-ish ending, referenced cousin incest, references to past Maedhros/Fingon, turning into sexual slavery at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 03:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20613878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehhumi/pseuds/tehhumi
Summary: Maglor has accepted that he belongs to Maedhros.That doesn’t mean he’ll put up with the same for Elrond and Elros.





	The Role You Made Me Play

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [tehhumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehhumi/pseuds/tehhumi) in the [iibb2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/iibb2019) collection. 

> This is a sequel to "Baby You Belong With Me", but I don't think that one is necessary to understand this.

_ Once there was a King. He was brave and true and loved his people above all. _

_ A demon asked to parlay with the King for his people’s safety, and the King went. But the demon betrayed him, killing the King’s guard and capturing the King, dragging him down to Hell. _

_ The demon offered the King’s Brother the same deal, safety for his people and the King’s freedom as well. But the Brother did not wish to get trapped in Hell too, and refused to treat with the demon. _

_ Years passed, and the King’s true love, a Prince, came to the kingdom. When he heard what had befallen the companion of his heart, the Prince set off for Hell. The Prince rescued the King, which no other had dared attempt in the long years of his imprisonment. _

_ But the King was changed by the years he’d spent in Hell. His body was scarred, and the Prince had traded the King’s hand for their escape. Worse though was his heart, for the fires of Hell burn hottest on what is good and true. They burned up every shred of love, of compassion, of kindness, of gratitude, from the King’s heart, until he felt only a grasping jealousy over those he had once cared for. _

_ The King’s mind had not broken though, and his wit was as sharp as ever. He knew that people helped those who loved them, so he told people that he loved them. He told his Brother, and his other brothers, and the Prince that he loved them greatly. They all loved him and return, and stayed with him, so the King was happy. _

_ But the Prince was still only a Prince, and when his father called, he must attend. Thus the King was left alone for months at a time, and he grew bored, and lonely, and angry at the Prince’s father for taking away what brought the King pleasure. He said to himself, ‘I am a King. I have lords and armies under my control. My people will kill at my command, or hold their fire and let themselves be overrun. My halls are filled with treasure, and I have fruit in the midst of winter. Why then should be my bed be empty? The Prince my lover may be gone, but surely there are others as beautiful in the kingdom.’ _

_ The King thought for a while and how best to bring a beautiful man to his bed. This was long ago and far away, and his kingdom was not a civilized place like ours, so there were no courtesans. _

_ The King’s Brother, who had ruled when the King was in Hell, was beautiful. The King recalled him, and his jealousy awoke. The King did not wish to share the Brother’s loveliness with anyone, and so he decided to take him for his own. He invited the Brother to his castle. _

_ The night the Brother arrived at the King’s castle there was a feast, with the songs and dancing and fine food, and afterwards the King and his Brother went to sleep in their own rooms. The second night, there was again a feast. The King asked his Brother to come to his rooms, and hold each other while they slept as they had as children. The Brother, with love in his heart for his brother and King, and fearing no malice, agreed. The third night was again a feast, and again the King asked his Brother to stay with him, and again the Brother agreed. That night, the King had fire in his blood and warmth in his bed, and took his pleasure for the first time since the Prince went away. The next night there was no feast, and no bed was made up for the Brother but the King’s, and so it was until the Prince returned. _

_ Years passed in this manner. The King had his pleasure with the Prince, and with the Brother when the Prince was away. The Brother did not wish this, but he obeyed his King. The Prince knew none of this, and continued to be brave and bold, and fought many battles alongside the King and his people and his Brother. In time, the Prince was too bold, and he fell. _

_ The King’s people fell as well, in battle against the demon, or in battles to steal treasure for the king’s coffers. Some said he was mad, and eventually the King had none who would follow him but the Brother. The King had grown to hate his Brother as a coward, for he was too scared to rescue the King from the demon and too scared to reject the King, but he still found the Brother beautiful, and still took his pleasure in him. _

_ One day the King heard tale of the two most beautiful gems in all the world, blessed by the gods themselves. He wanted them, and told his Brother that they must take them. The Brother counseled otherwise, but in the end obeyed the King. _

_ The King and his Brother succeeded, killing the guards and stealing the gems. What they did not know was that when the gods blessed the gems, they had not merely been made more beautiful. The gems now burned evil at the touch. _

_ The King grabbed one of the gems out of the coffer. He burst into flames at once, for if he had any good left in him after going through Hell, it had died with the Prince. So great were the King’s evil deeds that the land itself refused to hold him, and split in two, and he fell burning into a great chasm. _

_ The Brother was burned as well, for he had killed for greed and bedded his brother. But he had not wanted to, and had tried at times to be kind, and so him the gem burned slowly. He ran to a river and jumped in. Some say he burned to death before he hit the water, and some say he drowned, but some say he went on, to wander the world as a reminder that evil deeds can be done for love and loyalty as easily as for hate and greed._

\- The tale of the Mad King’s Brother, as told in Far Harad, recorded by Melpomaen of Rivendell in the year 405 of the Third Age 

* * *

_ First Age 562, Beleriand _

Elros looked over at Maglor. This was not the first time Elros and his brother had been woken in the middle of the night to ride across the countryside. Nor was it the first time they’d left the fortress intending to stay away for days. Beleriand was at war, and Maglor considered it his duty to make them capable of surviving it. That meant being not only prepared but practiced at coming fully awake if there was an attack, at understanding the risks and resources of the wildlands, of navigating by the stars when the land was completely unfamiliar. This was in many senses a completely familiar situation.

In other ways though, it was not. This was the first time a midnight training ride hadn’t been warned of before, so the twins could go to bed early and well rested. Ever since they were fifteen Maglor had trusted them to pack appropriate gear for themselves, but this time he has gone into their room after they and come out with a large bundle. Additionally, Maglor was acting incredibly strange, jumping at shadows, and turning frequently to look for attacks from behind, even though the lands near the fortress were kept clear of orcs. 

When the sun rose, Maglor turned away from the road they had been following and into a narrow gorge that was likely a riverbed in spring. In autumn as it was now, the ground was dry. “I would like to get at least half a mile from the road, and then we can make camp.”

Elros was inclined to go along with the suggestion, having talked until late in the night and barely caught a few hours before Maglor had awoken them. His brother Elrond was not so easily distracted, and asked, “We’re making camp at dawn, not dusk?”

Maglor replied, “We shall only ride at night. Orcs do not like daylight, so there is less chance this way of them surprising our campsites.” Less chance as well of elves spotting them on the move if they kept to darkness.

Elros spoke up, “You haven’t worried about orc attacks before.”

“We are travelling a bit further this time, and will be outside the area our forces regularly patrol.”

“I thought you said we were too young for that sort of danger.”

“My brother Maedhros is of the opinion that you should be counted as adults. By you age, your parents had children of their own; and you appear to be your full height, depending if you take more after Idril or Thingol.” Maglor shrugged, “I don’t really have much room to argue.”

Elrond butted in, “So we’re celebrating our majority by wandering around in the wilderness for several days and sleeping in the mud?

“Did you expect Maedhros to bake you a cake?”

“No, but what about you?”

Elos joined in, “Yeah! Maedhros might be enough of an ascetic to think military training is a good birthday present, but you’re not.”

Maglor nearly choked at that description of Maedhros. It was evidence he had protected the boys well so far, and only cemented his decision. “It’s a surprise, hopefully one you will like. I’ll tell you when we next make camp, tomorrow morning. For now though, we need to set up a watch. I will take the first watch, until noon. Which of you wants afternoon and which wants evening?”

“You gave yourself the longest watch, before you get a chance for any sleep.”

You two are growing - well I suppose grown now - peredhel. I’m an Elf. Elves need less sleep than Men.”

“Fine, I’ll take second watch.”

“Good. For both your watches, I want you to wake me if you see anyone approaching at all, even if they look like elves coming from Amon Ereb. Morgoth is very skilled at traps and disguises.”

They rode in silence all the next night. Their path was due southwest, wth Maglor turning their course at times to ford as many streams and traverse as much rocky ground as possible. All three of them, and their horses, were worn out by the time they made camp. 

But once they had sat for a bit and eaten, Elros remembered that they were owed a gift. “So Maglor, what’s the surprise?”

Maglor reached into his breast pocket and withdrew two letters. “This is a message for King Gil-Galad. It includes an introduction, a summary of your education and skills, and some political business. This one is for Earendil. Please don’t open either of them early, I only have my personal signet with me, not the family one.”

“How are letters we can’t open to people we’ll never meet a birthday present we’ll like?”

Elrond figured it out. “Because we are going to meet them. You’re sending us away, aren’t you?”

“I am sending vital tactical and diplomatic letters with the only two people in my camp I expect not to be shot on sight. But it’s true that I expect that neither you father or Gil-Galad will approve of you returning to Amon Ereb - save of course at the head of an invading army.”

Elros said, “You could have given us time to say goodbye. And to pack.”

“Not everyone in the fortress believes that sending you to Gil-Galad is the wisest course; there are some who would rather you die than have the chance to reveal our secrets. Besides, the less warning anyone has of our trip, the less chance Mogoth has of finding us and sending an army of orcs to stamp out Luthien’s line for good. And as for packing,” Maglor turned and brought out the bundle that Elros had assumed contained training gear. “I expect that I didn’t choose exactly the same things you would’ve if given the chance, but I did my best. I have your journals and your circlets, as well as a few changes of clothes including formal wear. Elros, I brought as many of your woodworking tools as I could find, and Elrond, your lute is here.”

Elrond looked at the pile of things thoughtfully. They weren’t really birthday presents, as they had all been his already. “What if we don’t want to go?”

Maglor blinked. “What?”

“We’ve never met Gil-Galad, and we last saw Earendil when we were three years old. Why should we go to them rather than stay at Amon Ereb?”

“It won’t be as pleasantly comfortable there as you have been used to; you’re adults now. Your education is complete, and you’ll be expected to pull your weight.”

Elros said, “I’m willing to take guard shits, or put my craft to use. We never expected to be pampered forever.”

“You’ve never even killed an orc, are you so eager to become kinslayers?” Maglor’s use of the term was greeted with mirrored expressions of shock, and he pressed the advantage. “We do still encounter other Elves and Men occasionally, we simply don’t inform you.The Elves we kill or capture if we can’t drive them off; the Men we do so only if they offer threats rather than trade.”

Elrond asked quietly, “Why haven’t we seen the captured elves?”

“We offer them death if they want it, and all of them prefer it to living at our mercy. Maedhros has a rather fierce reputation among those old enough to remember.”

Elros said, “We don’t have to be guards. We could just work in the kitchen, or the fields.”

“Every elf who is able patrols at least one week in twelve. Maedhros says it proves loyalty, and it least helps remind everyone they’re no better than he and I are. If you really want to stay as a laborer, I suppose Maedhros might be willing to compromise. Lose one eye and you’d be useless as a scout, but still plenty able as a field hand.” If this was not enough to drive the boys away from Amon Ereb, Maglor would explain the further price Maedhros asked of those close to him. For the moment though, Maglor clung to what scraps of dignity he had. 

Elrond said shakily, “Maedhros has never harmed us.”

“When we took you from Sirion, Maedhros said I could raise you, but the command of our forces would remain his. You are adults, and no longer under my authority. If you want to stay, you’ll have the exact same rights as any of our other soldiers.”

Elros asked, “Did Maedhros _ really _do that to someone, or are you just making up stories?”

“Not an eye in particular, that was just optimism that he might let you choose.” And an eye would damage their looks without their ability to run later, rather than a cut tendon that would do the reverse. “Menelmire turned aside at Doriath.”

Menelmire was chief cook at Amon Ereb. She had trouble hearing due to her missing ears, and she walked slowly because her left leg had been broken below the knee and healed with the foot pointing nearly sideways.

“Maedhros did that to her?”

“The ears were punishment for deserting. I don’t know how her leg broke, but she set it herself a few weeks before Sirion. And now she doesn’t have to fight at all, so maybe it’s worth it to her.”

“You never mentioned how dangerous Maedhros was before!” Elros accused. 

“You were already frightened enough of us, I was worried you would run away if we seemed like monsters. And as long as you _ didn’t _run away, Maedhros was content to leave your education - and punishment - to me.”

“But you think that’s about to change overnight?”

“You are of age,” Maglor stated.

Elrond asked, “Would you really let him do that to us?”

“My children, I would die before I let him lay a hand on you against your will. But I am not capable of fighting off the whole guard on my own, so he would still reach you. And he is a skilled statesmen, so you might find yourself agreeing to things you hated.”

“What do you mean?”

“The dwarves of Belegost have long been angry with us for sheltering you two, heirs of Beren and Thingol. If you were shown to be penitent, they might let us in their mountains.”

“Really? And we wouldn’t freeze half to death each winter?”

Maglor shrugged. “Possibly. The point is you could easily be tortured while asking me not to intervene, and Maedhros would do it without reservation. Maybe you should just join the army after all. Kill at least one creature that can speak, and Maedhros will believe you’ll at least kill anyone who tried to kill you. We could make it easy, tie up a pair of orcs and bring them to the throne room for you.”

Elrond said, “Attacking defenseless creatures would be how we prove ourselves worthy of the army, not the drills with sword or bow you and Maedhros have trained us in for years?”

“It is the Feanorian army after all. And it’s better to flinch in a stone hall than with an army riding down at you. I could ask maedhros to bring in a few orcs, and I could give you one more lesson. The arteries are all in the same place, orcs and elves and men and dwarves.”

“How exactly do you know that?”

Maglor: “I’ve killed some of each, except for dwarves. The dwarf bodies I saw after the Nirnaeth.”

Elros exchanged a look with Elrond, and said, “We’ll keep riding towards Gil-Galad’s camp. We haven’t decided to leave you yet, but we’ll think it over.”

“Of course.” If Elros and Elrond chose to join the Feanorian army, Maglor was going to order them to deliver the letters as their commander. Failing that, he could leave them tied up in the woods and alert Gil-Galad’s army. Gil-Galad had no reputation for torture, and the boys’ father would get them safe out of any political mess their arrival caused.

* * *

Maglor ran into a Feanorian patrol when he was days away from returning to Amon Ereb. He had successfully convinced the twins to leave, so he accepted the escort back to the fortress. The soldiers were very happy not to be forced to arrest him, as he outranked everyone in the army except Maedhros. They played a horn call to announce their successful hunt, and to recall the search parties that had gone in other directions. 

Maedhros met them at the gate. The captain attempted to give a standard report. “We found no sign of orcs sir. No injuries to report.”

“You and your men are dismissed. Maglor, follow me.”

Maglor did so, not surprised at all when their path took them to Maedhros’s rooms. He had been at outlet for Maedhros’s anger before - Fingon’s death was the most memorable occasion - but never when he was the cause. He wondered if returning had been a good idea. But where else would he go, and who would Maedhros take it out on if he was not found? 

Maedhros closed the door and locked it, putting the key around his neck. He looked his brother in the eye. “You left me.”

“I came back,” Maglor said.

“You stole the twins.”

“I let them go to Gil-Galad, and to their kin.”

“So you’ve stolen from me, and will not return them.”

“I’m not surprised you see it that way.”

“They are adults. We agreed your authority over them would end then. Why did you back out now?”

Maglor was exhausted from too much hard travel and too little sleep, and said what he was thinking. “I actually care about them, as strange as that may seem to you.”

“You’re mine, so what’s yours is mine as well. But if you wanted Elros and Elrond as more than students, you could have said so.”

“Are you actually hearing what you’re saying?!”

“There’s no need to get so upset. Why did you send them away? Now they’re of no use to either of us.”

“You really have to ask why I didn’t want them near you, after how you’ve treated me for the last five hundred years?”

“Of course I wonder why you defied me after being obedient for so long.”

“I want Elros and Elrond to be safe, from you as much as orcs.”

“I had, and still have, no intention of seriously harming the boys.”

“Because anything besides maiming is completely recoverable.”

“Well yes. That’s what maiming means.” Maedhros rubbed his left hand over the place where his right arm abruptly ended. 

“Well yes. That’s what maiming means.”

“You went mad in Angband, and now you don’t care who else you take with you.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. I’m perfectly sane.”

“Who you were in Valinor would not describe you as such.”

“We were idiots in Valinor. Just because we’ve learned more about the world doesn’t mean I know less about what’s real.”

“I think it does, since you can’t understand why I care about my sons.”

Maedhros rolled his eyes. “They’re not your sons. They’re spoils of war, who you enjoyed teaching and who I was going to use for bargaining. Until of course, you foolishly traded them for nothing.”

“And in the course of bargaining, what excuse would you have found for it? A torture that doesn’t leave marks, or making sure they know you’re serious, or find someone for an alliance strengthened by being married to twins? You’ve been looking for an excuse for the last decade.”

Maedhros stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“They look very Nolofinwean, don’t they? It’s bad enough when you call me by his name.”

“I might have used them, sure. It’s my right. I’m sure I could persuade them easily to be at least as biddable as you are. They’d certainly talk back less. But they would be convenient, no more.”

“Oh, I’m sure that even as far gone as you are, he was special to you. Your favorite pet, or favorite toy. You never offered a kingdom for me, after all.”

“Why would I? You were mine, I wanted you, so I have you; it’s simple. And don’t speak of him that way.” Maedhros’s hand went to his belt and the dagger sheathed there.

“I’ll speak of who I want to how I want to. Tell me, did you have two more sets of ribbons ready, or were the twins to take turns wearing mine?” Maglor was on a roll.

“Those are NOT yours.”

“He’d leave you, you know. If he knew what you’re like with me, if he knew what you’d done at Doriath, and at Sirion, and what you planned to do to children under your care; just one would be enough for him to hate you. And when he realized he was in love with a lie, Fingon would leave you.”

“You have no right to say that name. Kneel. Hands behind you back.” Maedhros gestured sharply with his dagger.

Maglor felt he had scored a major point. He knelt though, rather than press his luck with Maedhros in this mood. Maedhros unlaced his breeches, and stood so close Maglor was practically falling over backwards.

Maglor had plenty of experience by now in how to use his lips and tongue to bring his brother pleasure. He couldn’t use it though, as Maedhros simply thrust rough and fast. His left hand, still holding the dagger, yanked Maglor’s head along by the hair. The stump of his right arm kept the younger’s head too far forward to simply spit his cock out. Maglor began to choke and gasp as his throat was assaulted. When Maglor was on the verge of passing out, Maedhros pulled out.

“Get on the bed. Now.”

“What?” Maglor coughed as he regained his breath.

“On the bed, face down. Now, before I throw you there.” Maedhros made no move to drop the knife.

Maglor went.

Maedhros cut off Maglor’s breeches, not caring about catching the skin. He was no more gentle with Maglor’s ass than he had been with his face.

After Maedhros was done, he collapsed on his brother. He had not let go of the knife the entire time, and now held it to Maglor’s throat. 

“I should kill you,” he mused, “For stealing from me, and for answering back.”

“You don’t want to.”

“Don’t tell me what I want!”

“If you kill me, who’s left? The twins are gone, Fingon is dead, our little brothers are dead.”

“I have a whole army. Any would be honored to be made my lover.”

“They wouldn’t be the same, loyal to the fight and our family more than to you personally. Plus, they’re terrified of you and pity me. Do you really think they’ll become _ more _eager to crawl into your bed when you’ve murdered the last person who shared it with you?”

“Stop talking!” The point of the knife broke skin.

“Threaten something you’d actually go through with.”

“Fine.” Maedhros abruptly moved his arm and pointed the knife at Maglor’s cock. “How about this? I don’t need it; I’ve never used it. You can’t be a noble warrior if every time you climb in the saddle, you curl up in pain as it brushes up against the scar. No one else would take you like that, not Gil-Galad or Finarfin or even a whorehouse.”

Maglor shut up.

Maedhros was quiet as he thought it through. His right arm absently stroked Maglor’s side. After a few minutes he said, “I could kill you, but it’s true it wouldn’t help. I’ll just have to keep you closer. You were so good, so obedient, I thought I could trust you. But you apparently can’t handle a long leash anymore.

“You committed treason. I strip you of all rank and command. You have no authority over any in this fortress, even the lowliest servant. You shall not be allowed outside the walls, unless with my permission and accompanied by guards of my choosing. Your sword and bow are forfeit. Your room is forfeit - the rug will do if I don’t want you in my bed. Since you cannot be trusted as my lieutenant, you shall be my thrall. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Maedhros,” Maglor said, as he had so many times for the last five centuries.

“If you run away, you will be brought back, and I will tell the peredhel that you are gravely injured. I’m certain they’ll come back for the sake of their kind, sweet caretaker. You can watch me with them.”

“I would kill you first.”

“You could certainly die trying, but then I’d be so lonely, and I’m sure the twins would attend your funeral. Just don’t try to leave me, and everything will be fine.”

“Sure it will Maedhros,” Maglor said quietly, bleeding slowly from his ass and his neck and his back, afraid to even shift his weight for fear Maedhros would think he was trying to escape.

* * *

_ Third Age 410, Far Harad _

Lord Elrond of Rivendell approached the figure at the bar warily. The tale that had recently arrived in his halls had been a strange one, with pieces that were obviously lifted from history mixed freely with slander against people long dead. Elrond had thought the grudges with the Feanorians had cooled by now, a thousand years after the last of their house was killed by Sauron, three thousand years after the sons of Feanor had last attacked. But now someone was singing a song that although, the Haradrim might dismiss as a fairy tale, held just enough grains of truth to ignite long held tensions that had been barely papered over. And Elrond, raised by the sons of Feanor as he had been, would be in the middle of it.

Not to mention, he did not approve of one of the kindest elves he’d ever known being portrayed as a weak-willed pervert. Elrond had traced the source of the tale as far as this travelling minstrel, and he wished to know what this Elf (for no one else recalled the sons of Feanor at all) held against the sons of Feanor, and if he held it against Elrond.

“The song you wrote is quite unusual. I had thought the topic dead and buried, along with its participants.” Elrond spoke in Sindarin, a language none of the Men around would know. 

The minstrel froze for a moment at the language, then replied cautiously, “I did not expect the song to reach anyone else who remembered those times.”

“No? I can hardly think what purpose other than inflaming tension between elves it could have.”

“Some songs need to be sung. The truth will come out in the end, and this lie has festered for long enough.”

“So you set out another lie, not caring of the hurt it will cause those who once knew them.”

“I may have used some artistic license, but I did wait until all those who cared were dead. And I have sung many songs that traveled no further than the borders of their town, I did not believe this one to be different.”

“All those who cared - how out of touch are you? I still wear jewelry given to me by Celebrimbor the ringmaker, and Quenya is heard in Rivendell as often as Westron! Though I disapprove of their deeds, I have never been ashamed of my upbringing.”

“Elrond? Is it really you?”

“Yes. Who is it that knows me but has never seen my lands?”

The minstrel pushed his hood.

“Maglor?!”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“I thought you were dead!”

“That was rather the point.”

“I mourned you, and you’ve been alive this whole time, writing insulting songs about yourself. An explanation is the least of what you owe me-”

“Owe you! Of course it would come to that. I owed Feanor my life in thanks for siring me, and owed Maedhros my body in repayment for abandoning him. Tell me, what are you seeking restitution for - not killing you swiftly when I found two lost children on a battlefield? And which payment would you prefer, or is it some other idignity?” 

Elrond stared at him in shock. So did many others in the bar, for though the language was foreign Maglor had not been quiet. After several long moments, Elrond said, “I came here to find out who was smearing the name of the one who raised me and my brother, and taught us to be kind and forgiving rather than cruel and vengeful. But however much of the tale is true, it is yours alone to tell or not, and I won’t impede you.”

Maglor let out his breath. “It is all true, save for the places I simplified the politics.”

Elrond had been doing his best to ignore the tale as lies, but had not been able to dismiss it as totally impossible. To know it was true… “I’m sorry that happened to you.” It was inadequate, but all he could think of in the moment. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell Elros and me when you were convincing us to leave.”

“Would you have believed me?”

Elrond tried to recall how he had thought back then, when he had trusted his guardians to always look out for him. “Maybe, if you had any evidence, or specific examples.”

“I was still too attached to my dignity to offer those. And it worked out alright - you and Elros met Gil-Galad, and you became the King’s herald and Elros became a king himself.”

Elrond was quiet for a while as he put his entire childhood in a new context, where Maedhros used torture not only on enemies, or to punish deserters, but on his own family.

“How did Maedhros die?”

Maglor was surprised. “He jumped into the fire, have you never heard the Nodolante?”

“I have, but I was never sure what to make of the end, with both witnesses supposedly dead. And Maedhros giving in because he won never seemed in character, and still doesn’t.”

“Oh, you want to know _ why _ he died. The Silmarils did burn us, and from the moment he picked one up, he was never going to be able to hold a sword again. He would have had to live on someone else’s mercy - probably mine, as the number of people who wouldn’t kill us on sight was low. He died to keep me from treating him the same way he’d treated me.” Maglor paused, and said softly, “I wouldn’t have, if you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort,” Elrond replied, perhaps too quickly.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to use this story for remixes or roleplays! Consider dropping me a link if you do, I wrote this idea because I like reading about it.


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